


Take Care

by fincherly



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Des is a bitchy young boy, First Meetings, Gen, i had the Urge to write this, not like... GRAPHIC violence but des gets a lil beat up towards the end, raymond is a saint, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-01-25 05:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12524160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fincherly/pseuds/fincherly
Summary: My headcanon as to how Raymond and Desmond met.





	1. Finding

One loaf of bread. That was all they had took, whomever it was. Raymond’s thick brows furrowed at the prudence the thief showed; why only take that? He had bought a plethora of food, all kept in a bag he had left on the bench to open his door. Nothing else had been disturbed.

On a whim, the fourty-five year old Scotsman scanned the rugged path leading to his house, hoping to see some trace to the direction the strange thief had gone. He was impressed; he turned away for barely more than five seconds, but whomever it was came and went without so much as a sound. The only reason Raymond had noticed at all was the fact that the tip of bread that had protruded through the top of the bag had been quite conspicuous, making its absence obvious, and a light scuff mark where a worn-down shoe had scraped the wood of his porch. He took the bag inside, setting it on the kitchen counter before locking his door on his way out to find the culprit.

Why take the bread? That was the question burning in Raymond’s mind the most. He could only guess that it was the easiest to grab out of the other layers. But then, why not take the bag? It could be clearly seen that it contained much more than just that. It couldn’t have been a mistake. Of course, Raymond almost lived in a ghost town at this point; here and there, worn-down buildings littered the dry streets. No one bothered to repair them or put them to use, and instead left them to their own rotting devices. Not many still lived here, but Raymond had inherited his mother’s quaint little home, and he wouldn’t leave it. Far, far too comfortable.

He didn’t need to pursue them. Whomever it was had most certainly hidden or escaped, making it a naught endeavor. He was curious, though. He couldn’t help it. Whether he would scold them or merely question their methods, he wanted to find them.

He had searched for roughly twenty minutes when he noticed that same scuff mark outside of an old warehouse. No one had used it in years; it was one of the many shelled buildings in his neighborhood. He sighed. So the culprit was homeless.

He expected to meet with resistance when he pushed on the rusted door, but to his surprise, it swung open without so much as a squeak. He looked closer at the hinges, noticing the lack of rust in the most important segments. It kept the abandoned look, but it was perfectly functional. Impressive; whoever it was had a good head on their shoulders. No one would doubt that it remained uninhabited. He turned the corner, shutting the door behind him. His eyes fixed on a corner of the massive room; dim light emanated from what mind fleetingly registered as a nest. Large books littered the tiny space, several half-melted candles sputtering out around a figure.

A young boy, seemingly in his late teens, was curled up onto a single patched blanket. His clothes, though not necessarily ratty, were covered in dirt and what Raymond feared was small spots of blood. His torn button-down was of decent make, and his pants were more formal than he expected. He couldn’t see the boy’s face, but thick, lightly tangled hair fell over his shoulders as he laid on his side.

Bread crumbs were strewn around him.

Raymond paused, then moved closer as quietly as he could. He was doing well until he stepped on the edge of a dry stick, the crack resounding around the empty warehouse. In an instant, the boy was upright, scurrying back so he was against the wall. His horrified red gaze fell upon Raymond’s concerned expression; the boy’s face was ashen.

“Who the hell are you?!” the boy snarled. His voice had a dry, hoarse sound to it. How long had it been since he had spoken? “Leave!”

“I’m not going to hurt you - ,” Raymond began, only to be interrupted.

“I don’t care – get out!” His voice was getting desperate, and his hand was resting on a kitchen knife, fingers ghosting around the grip. When Raymond didn’t move or flinch at the apparent threat, the boy seemed to still; not relax, per se, but not as tense as before. “Who… who are you? What do you want?”

“My name is Raymond,” the Scotsman said, keeping his voice gentle. He watched the other’s sharp eyes rake up and down his figure, scrutinizing, sizing him up. “I only came to find out who had stolen a loaf of bread from me.” Inclining his head to the crumb-riddled ground before the young man, he held back a smirk at the blush that rose on his face. “If I may ask, why take only the bread? I had much else that could’ve been of more use to you.”

“I…” The boy seemed to stumble for a response. “I didn’t want – why do you care? I left the rest; would you rather I take it all?” The sharp tone cut through the musty air.

Raymond tilted his head; no matter how much the other bristled at him, he couldn’t hide the shaking hand or the wild look in his eyes. He was scared. Who was he? “Where are your parents?”

“Leave me alone,” the red-eyed boy snapped. Raymond could see the anger in his face; he wouldn’t push him, so he raised his hands in surrender.

“Alright,” he reassured him. He turned his back to him, retracing his steps to the door.

“W-Wait,” the boy shouted. When Raymond turned back to him, he met his eyes, the fear conspicuous instead of hidden. “Does anyone…,” he began, then cleared his throat. “Will they force me to leave, if they knew I was here?”

Raymond smiled. “No, my boy. No one would do that – you can rest assured. You may stay if you wish.” The boy relaxed, a slight look of wonder on his face, quickly to be replaced by indignation as he huffed. At that, Raymond left.

The next day, he found himself walking to the old warehouse once more. It was early, so he was surprised to find the boy upright, scribbling on a piece of scrap paper, squinting at one of his books on his lap. Raymond let the door close with a loud click, intentionally alerting the young man to his presence.

“Wh – you?!” Taking the book and raising it like a shield, he once again crawled back to the wall. Raymond advanced despite the furious sputtering, standing around seven meters from the other. “I told you to leave me alone!” Raymond ignored him, and instead took a fresh, warm loaf of bread out of his coat and tossed it to him. The boy caught it with a startled squeak, looking at the food with wonder and no small amount of confusion. He didn’t say anything, only looking at it. It was a few moments later when he spoke. “…What do you want?”

“If you wanted bread, you could have asked,” Raymond stated. He watched the young man scrutinize it, then chuckled. “I didn’t poison it, I assure you. I could leave while you eat, if you would prefer.” The conflicted look on the other’s face struck Raymond as odd. He didn’t say anything, but ripped off a piece of bread with his teeth in admission, closing his eyes in bliss at the first fresh piece of food he’d had in a long time. Raymond smiled, and took that as permission to stay. He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries, so he sat where he stood. His movement caught the boy’s attention, and he made sure to remain still. They never once broke eye contact while he ate, the boy’s suspicion evident. “May I ask what your name is?” Raymond urged when he finished.

The other paused, mulling his choices over in his mind. He seemed to come to a conclusion. “…Desmond,” he muttered. Raymond smiled.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Desmond.” Even at Desmond’s scoff, he was proud of his progress. “I don’t suppose your parents live in this town, hm?”

Desmond shook his head. “They’re far from here, I assure you. Why do you want to know?”

“I’m curious why someone as young as you would live like this. Your clothes aren’t rags, so you’ve come from a well-off family; why a warehouse?”

Barking a laugh, Desmond curled up more. “I don’t need those fools. I never counted them as my family.” He rested his head on his knees; he wasn’t watching Raymond, which meant he trusted him enough. Raymond smiled. “I’m old enough to live on my own; there’s no reason to stay with them.”

That was interesting. So he thought himself capable of taking care of himself – or, rather, he thought his previous caretakers incapable. “How long have you been living here?”

“Why do you care?” The snap in Desmond’s voice startled him; he supposed he’d asked too many questions. “I told you a long while ago to leave.”

“I offered, at one point.”

“Well then, let me take you up on that. Please leave now.” Raymond nodded, then left as he had asked.

The next day resulted in nearly the same thing. Desmond wasn’t surprised to see him, and grumbled something about not being a charity case when Raymond presented a spare blanket he’d grabbed from his own home. After just a bit of urging, Desmond took it. He allowed Raymond to ask a few more questions; he’d been adopted seven years ago by a young Mr. and Mrs. Sycamore. The two were freshly married, and weren’t equipped to have a child quite yet. He supposed they would’ve fared better with someone younger, someone who hadn’t, for all intents and purposes, already grown up. The more Raymond spoke to him, the clearer it became how intelligent he was. Although still childish in some manners, Desmond spoke with the air of a scholar. It was only when Raymond asked what had happened to his biological family that he was asked to leave. The boy’s voice was so full of bitter energy that Raymond couldn’t have argued if he wanted to.

This routine continued for around a month, until Desmond had every luxury short of an actual bed. He was no longer surly during his visits, slowly growing accustom to the other’s presence.

Raymond had brought a small gift this time around; a simple wooden puzzle. Desmond had the necessities, and Raymond was proud of how far he’d come with the boy. But he was gone when Raymond entered the warehouse.

Maybe he’d gone to get something, Raymond assured himself. He couldn’t think of anything he’d need that Raymond hadn’t already given him, but he kept the hope and went back to his home. When Desmond was absent the following day, Raymond’s heart began to pound. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d lied to him about no one bothering him while living where he did in an abandoned building. Had someone really taken him away?

He paced and worried. He lived alone, so he had no one to comfort or reassure him of Desmond’s well-being. He had begun cleaning the guest room of his home in case the boy chose to stay with him. He liked his company, and he was infinitely interesting to talk to. He had a charm Raymond couldn’t explain. A certain gentleness laced his actions as he became more comfortable with him.

A soft thump on his front door startled him out of his wits. Rushing to the door, he was greeted by the sight of Desmond, collapsed and bruised. He was clutching his left arm, panting when his cloudy gaze met Raymond’s eyes. He immediately gathered Desmond into his arms, lifting his thin body and laying on the couch. The boy said nothing, soft gasps of pain escaping him when he shifted. Raymond brushed his tangled hair out of his face, and began to assess the damage Desmond had sustained. A bloodstain bloomed on his shoulder, and his left arm was bent at a sickening angle. Angry purple bruises covered him in splotches. “Desmond,” Raymond whispered. “What happened?"

Desmond took a shaking breath before he spoke, his voice trembling and raspy. “A few men came in,” he began. “I didn’t look up from my book; I thought it was you. But they – for whatever reason – ransacked the place. Everything you gave me is broken – I’m sorry, Raymond, they – there were too many, they took me s-somewhere, they were – ,” his eyes filled with tears, and he shoved his face into the pillow. Taking care not to put pressure on any of his bruises, Raymond rested a hand on Desmond’s back. He rubbed in slow circles, gently shushing him like he would a child.

“You’re safe here,” he cooed. “No one will hurt you.”

He stayed by his side until his fatigue caught up with him and the boy drifted off to sleep. Raymond smiled at the peaceful expression on the other’s face.

Raymond’s guest room officially became Desmond’s room after that.


	2. Settle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raymond and Desmond are getting used to each other.

The smoke alarm hadn’t went on, so Raymond figured he finally learned how to properly cook bacon.

Though cooking a real breakfast wasn’t something he’d developed a real habit for; living on your own leaves you with no reservations with only having coffee for breakfast.

Raymond wasn’t living on his own anymore.

That was something he’d have to get used to; the only problem with the sizzle and crack of freshly cooked bacon is that it obscured other sounds. He was waiting, listening intently for the creak of an underused door. He wasn’t going to disturb the boy while he was recovering from whatever attack he had escaped from the previous evening. When Desmond chose to rise on his own, they would begin the questioning: how they would function, what their plans were, and other things. But what Raymond was most intent on hearing, though the thing he was most apprehensive to question, was the mysterious fate of Desmond’s biological family. The one that made a poor young boy bitter beyond his years.

Were they killed? Did he run away from them as he did his most recent family? Raymond ran over the possibilities of a vast variety of variables. He was deafened by his own thoughts before a misplaced creak of a crooked floorboard forced him out of his mind.

The boy – Desmond – was staring at him, the wide eyes of a timid animal watching Raymond intently, their stunning red bright and sharp. Raymond could have jumped out of his skin; the stairs were by far the loudest part of the house, and yet he’d only heard the one from the floor. Curious, he mused. He smiled nonetheless, and went about setting the bacon and eggs he had cooked onto the table. “Breakfast?” Raymond asked, keeping his tone gentle.

Desmond said nothing, still watching him. His expression had changed: he now had a look of confusion, skepticism. Though Raymond knew he had won Desmond’s trust, he knew that some habits were hard to break. The poor boy’s view of people was a pessimistic one.

Raymond took it upon himself to sit and take some provisions, picking up a newspaper and scanning over it, munching on bacon. Casual by design. Desmond seemed to take that as Raymond wanted him to; he walked to the chair opposite Raymond, sitting down without moving his gaze. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Raymond assured, looking over the top of the newspaper. He gave the plates of food a little push towards Desmond. No matter how hard he tried, Desmond couldn’t keep his eyes on Raymond while fresh, homemade cooking was right in front of him. Right in front of him for the first time in who knows how long, Raymond thought.

“I… I’m not worried you will.”

“Then what are you worried about?” Raymond set the paper down before him, meeting the other’s gaze.

Desmond blinked. “Nothing. I’m not worried.” The statement was a bit too hurried to pass; it may not be a lie, but it certainly wasn’t the whole truth.

A sigh. “’Worried’ may not be the right word, then, but you certainly aren’t comfortable in full. Is there something I can do to help you?” Raymond wanted Desmond to trust him. He knew it wouldn’t happen overnight, but he couldn’t stand to see someone so young with such primal fears the boy had developed while living on the streets.

“Why do you care?” Desmond growled. His tone was sharper, just a bit too deep. “Are you going to say ‘this is your home now’ and tell me you’ll be my new family?” Raymond was taken aback. Where did this hostility come from? “Will you promise to offer me help, then ignore me when I need it most? Because it wouldn’t be convenient?” Desmond’s nails were digging into the palms of his hands, pressed hard against his knees. Raymond was at a loss; this was a far cry from the scared, helpless boy he’d taken in. Desmond finally looked at him again instead of looking at his lap, and the hostility drained from his face when he saw the shock etched into Raymond’s face. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t…,” Desmond stuttered, face paling.

“Not to worry, my boy,” Raymond assured. “With what you’ve gone through, that sort of defensive stance is natural.” Desmond looked rather puzzled.

“’What I’ve gone through,’…,” he mumbled. “Do you… What exactly do you know about ‘what I’ve gone through?’”

Raymond leaned back a bit, crossing his arms. “I know you lost your biological family somehow; by your reactions when I ask, it most likely wasn’t a happy parting.” Fiddling with his beard, Raymond sighed at the newborn hostility in the boy’s eyes, quickly extinguished and exchanged for one of hidden shame. “I know your adoptive family was rather neglectful in their raising of you, and that you, to some extent, you felt alone.” Desmond’s eyes widened a bit at that.

A long moment of silence fell between them, Raymond studying the emotions playing across Desmond’s face. Anger, shame, grief – all flashed in his eyes in the span of a second. Raymond felt guilty for the curiosity that bubbled up inside him.

“My…,” Desmond began, his voice seeming to catch both of them off-guard. He sounded timid, weak. “My… biological family… they were – they were taken. By men, who stormed our house and left us alone.” Raymond’s interest was once again piqued, and he closely monitored Desmond to make sure he didn’t fall into panic. Red eyes flicked up to the ones across from him, and Raymond gave an encouraging nod. “I have – I had – a brother. He was adopted.” The last sentence was gentle, melancholy. “I was left.” Desmond once again looked away, brows furrowed in the obvious effort it took to keep the demons and ghosts at bay.

Raymond was shocked. He didn’t quite understand why Desmond had divulged that so… Well, ‘easily’ wouldn’t be the right word. Willingly would fit. He was proud, inexplicably; he felt as if he had won something. But the look on Desmond’s face wiped it.

The boy was leaning down, his eyes looking up to meet the older man’s. He seemed like he was looking for some sign of approval, an anxious storm in his red eyes waiting to be dispersed.

Raymond catalogued that little mystery for him to ponder later. Right now, he needed to reassure him. “I’m sorry, Desmond.” The boy’s red eyes looked down to his lap.

“It was a long time ago. I don’t know why I’m still hung up about it,” Desmond sighed, brows furrowing. Raymond shook his head.

“Traumatic memories don’t fade or settle easily, I’m afraid. I would be surprised if you were reconciled with it.” Desmond nodded, then took a strip of bacon and munched it. He may have tried, but he couldn’t conceal the little sigh that escaped him at the warm, home-cooked meat. “How is it?”

Desmond waited until he swallowed to speak; such manners for a previously homeless boy, Raymond mused. “It’s a bit crunchy, but it’s… it’s good.” Raymond smiled when Desmond took another.

He ate with such care and scrutiny that Raymond would have assumed he came from a wealthy family instead of the streets; although, his previous adoptive family… “What were your adoptive parents like?”

Desmond was silent even after he finished his bacon. A puzzled expression crossed his face. “They were nice people, I suppose.” A sigh. “They just… They were wealthy, and they showed me off at parties like I was a trophy of their philanthropy.” When he spoke again, his voice was that of a pretentious woman’s. “’My, isn’t he a handsome lad? How good of you to take the poor child in!’” Desmond scoffed.

Raymond blinked. “How did you do that with your voice?”

The boy frowned. “Why all the questions? We’ll have time for more later.” Getting up, Desmond brushed the crumbs off of his pants. “I’ll be in… my room, if you need me.” Raymond smiled at him with such warmth, that Desmond had to return with his own stiff one.

“Tell me if you need help settling in,” Raymond said, and with a tense nod, Desmond went upstairs as silently as he had come down.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Um... i talked about this on my tumblr but i wanted to write it in full


End file.
